All the Light I Cannot See

Six

Merlin sat in the comfortable darkness, loving the way it wrapped around him like a wool blanket. He found it hard to believe that he had lived in light for so many centuries when this way was so much more peaceful.

Peaceful. Merlin supposed that this current life was one of the more comfortable ones he had lived, although perhaps not the most fulfilling. This life had called to him after the war because all the violence had left him battered and tired, wondering exactly when all this mindless hatred would end. After years of numbness, Merlin had been awakened by being thrown directly in cold water.

He vowed never to hurt another person again, after Afghanistan. But it had only been three years, and the bodies were piling up. For someone who hated violence, Merlin had an undeniable amount of blood on his hands.

But when Morgana floated into the school, he lost it. Her voice reminded him too much of what she had taken from him.

And then they just kept coming, ghosts from his past haunting him through their reincarnated lives, without even knowing the anguish they were inflicting.

Karma's a bitch.

Maybe peaceful wasn't the right word. But when he was wrapped in darkness, all that pain faded, unable to exist in the dusk of the eternities. 

Then there was a knock at the door, shattering his meditation. "Come in, Gwaine," he called. "On time for once in your goddamn life, eh?"

The door creaked open without its usual enthusiasm, and Merlin knew that something sketchy was up. Gwaine always had a quip, something to establish a clever rapport between the two guys, and was never silent. Not to mention the fact that he was always 'fashionably late.'

Fashionably late, my ass.

Pulling himself up to his feet, Merlin tightened his grip on his cane. It had been a while since he'd used it for its intended purpose, but the staff was still powerful enough to blast whoever was in the doorway halfway into next year. It was practically humming with frustration, pent-up magic straining at the chance to break free. 

Not yet, the warlock thought, holding back. Wait and see what they want.

"Hello?" he called, moving slowly toward the door, the staff held outstretched. "Who's there?"

A clearing of the stranger's throat, accompanied by some nervous shuffling, answered his question. Then, a verbal reply. 

"Sorry, Gwaine's sick, the poor bastard. I'm here to replace him."

Merlin didn't know that the room could still spin even if he couldn't see a damn thing in it. The words fell on his ears like the buried language of the dragon lords or the old English of the druids.

It was music.

It was colour.

It was the starry night sky, hidden from Merlin's eyes for years.

"Arthur?" he whispered, the name feeling uncomfortable on his lips after centuries kept buried, but so right at the same time. "Is that you?"